“A beggar,” she said. “With a sword?” Sergeant Macer scratched his head. “I guess that is kind of odd.” “You could charm the helmet off a general on a battlefield, couldn’t you, Mat?” she said. “Mat?” the man asked in a familiar voice. “I don’t know what you mean, my good woman. My name is Garard, a simple beggar who has a quite interesting past, if you care to listen to it—” She eyed him with a firm gaze. “Oh, bloody ashes, Birgitte,” he complained, taking off the scarf. “I only wanted to get warm for a spell.” “And win the coin off my men.” “A friendly game never hurt a man,” Mat said.
